


she put her love down soft and sweet

by redledgers



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angel Wings, F/M, Mild Sexual Content, Post-Season/Series 04, Romantic Fluff, Soft Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), not really any spoilers though, wings and softness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-19 04:54:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19349896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redledgers/pseuds/redledgers
Summary: This cadence is familiar, the shifts in tone something she’s grown to expect around Lucifer: a mixture of humor, innuendo, and genuine softness.Lucifer's wings are soft and so is this fic.





	she put her love down soft and sweet

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Work Song by Hozier

Lucifer eats her like he’s starving, like she’s his salvation, the only thing keeping him afloat. His tongue fucks into her and _oh_ , the litany of noises he makes are a blessing. And when he tips her over the precipice, she curls her fingers into his hair until he props his chin on her hip. His eyes are fond, his grin soft, and for a moment, that softness is overwhelming.

“Hello,” he says, nuzzling the skin of her belly.

“Hi,” she replies. She leaves one hand in his hair, traces a finger down his nose only to stop at his lips with the other. It’s when he kisses the pad of her finger so gently that she closes her eyes.

When she opens them, his wings are out, draped lazily over the edges of the bed, fluffed and content just like the rest of him. Chloe thinks she could lie there all day. Except his scruff is just shy of leaving a burn at her hip and she’d very much like to kiss him right now. “C’mere,” she says softly, tugging his hair lightly, and he follows like the tide follows the moon.

His lips are salty and soft when he kisses her. She can feel his hum reverberate through her and it makes her smile. She’s earned these moments as much as he has. “Good morning,” he mumbles against her lips. His lids are half closed as she scratches gently at his scalp. “Breakfast?”

Chloe laughs. “Seconds already?”

He hides his laughter in the crook of her neck. “Thought French toast would be adequate, actually.”

“Mmm well, not yet.” Her fingers skate down the nape of his neck, trail across the ridge of his spine and rest against the base of his wings. She feels them shift under her touch, settling into the feeling of human hands carding through them. “This okay?”

“It’s delightful, Detective.” It’s always beautiful, these moments where the world softens into down and sunrise and she gets to see the truth. His rough edges, the front he puts out into the world, worn into something that feels safe. Feels like hers. Lucifer shifts, settling his weight more evenly above her, and hums again. “Would you do it more often?”

“What, this?” Chloe runs her fingers through the feathers again and doesn’t miss the way he sags against her. This isn’t new, not entirely, but there had been fits and starts at the beginning before it was okay.

“Precisely.” He rubs his cheek against hers and kisses her jaw, her neck, her shoulder. Like he can’t get close to her, can’t find a place to rest. As if he wants to crawl under her skin and stay there for a while. As if he’s touch starved even after all this time on Earth. They don’t talk about it, his time back There, not as much as they should. But she knows it was lonely, that it had always been lonely.

She lets him stay there until the sunlight washes out the room; combs her fingers through the feathers she can reach until he’s lax against her, dozing. It’s only when she hears her stomach protest that she nudges him to wakefulness. “Could use that French toast now, Lucifer,” she says quietly.

He folds his wings back only to roll over to stare at the ceiling. She feels lighter without his weight on her, but sad at the disappearance of the wings. “Right.” She gathers by the sound of his voice that he too was loath to end that moment. Except there was plenty of time for new moments. Instead of talking, she threads her fingers into his hair again and scratches his scalp. Lucifer returns the gesture with a lazy smile. “Right, French toast it is.” 

The bed is too large when he leaves to pull on silken pants and pad down the hall to his kitchen. She remembers the first time it felt too large, after he left LA. Chloe stretches her sore limbs, rising only when she hears the sound of bread and eggs sizzling on the stove. She pulls a robe off of the floor and ties it around her waist. 

“Have you ever tried maple syrup off a stripper’s back?” Lucifer asks as soon as she steps into the kitchen. He plates the golden toast and sets out whipped cream and maple syrup.

She can’t help but smile fondly because this is the Lucifer that the rest of the world knows and loves. Maybe once she would have been hurt by his comment, but not anymore. “I can’t say I have.” She crowds his space to press a kiss to his jaw.

“Neither have I.” He seems suddenly relaxed again by her proximity, and laughs when she coats the breakfast in an ungodly amount of whipped cream. Syrup would only make her hands sticky, and this morning, she would rather not. They eat in relative silence. He makes a show of licking syrup off of his thumb and she retaliates by dabbing whipped cream on his nose. This cadence is familiar, the shifts in tone something she’s grown to expect around Lucifer: a mixture of humor, innuendo, and genuine softness. The intensity, well, that existed only in specific circumstances.

“Do you still hate your wings?” she asks once they’ve moved to the living room, once she’s kissed the taste of maple syrup and bourbon from his lips. He’s poured himself a second glass and he picks it up from the table to take a sip. She sees him thinking; his eyes are never able to conceal anything, especially not around her.

“Not always,” he replies. He considers her carefully. “Not with you.” He shifts away from her just enough to spread them out again. One wing is folded up against the back of the couch, but he makes no move to adjust them.

Chloe reaches to brush her fingertips against them and it’s as if they come to life on their own, leaning into her touch. They’re unlike anything she’s ever felt, softer even than Trixie’s favorite blanket, soft enough to bury her fingers into them and relish in the feeling. And Lucifer _purrs_.

For just a second, he almost looks embarrassed, but then he hides his face in her shoulder and does it again. She feels like she’s melting as warmth blooms in her chest. She feels like time stops for a moment and that the moment lasts forever. 

The moment breaks when Lucifer starts to trail his lips up her neck. “Hi,” she says. His wings ruffle and curl around her in a gesture that’s new and she climbs into his lap to make it more comfortable. “Why not with me?”

“Hmm?” His eyes are curious as he pulls back to look at her. He tucks an errant lock of hair behind her ear.

Chloe drums her fingers against his chest. She’s always been careful, not willing to push things further than he was willing to speak about. His life was a fathomless chasm she thought she might never understand even in a thousand lifetimes. But she pushes on. “Why don’t you hate your wings right now?”

Lucifer closes his eyes and exhales, pressing their foreheads together. “No one else cared, Detective.” She doesn’t have to ask to know what he means, not completely. Wings, a reflection of divinity, out of place somewhere the divine wouldn’t go. The rest she can piece together in the in-between. But now every touch, every brush of feathers against skin becomes a sign of trust, another layer to this thing they’re building.

When she kisses him, she can still taste the bourbon, now fresh on his tongue, and the syrup from not too long ago. He follows as he always does, like the tide follows the moon. She thinks maybe she’ll let him have his way later, but right now she’ll straighten his feathers and let him slip his way under her skin. And right now, she’ll let the softness be overwhelming.


End file.
